Welcome to Rosewood!
by LilyRosie7
Summary: A/U: Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are both orphans. Their only rescue is old-fashioned Children's Home called Rosewood. How are they settling down to their so-called home?


**AN: **Big thank you for my beta reader Paloma228! I know I'm still on process with my other story, If I'm Capable To Love, and people have been asking me to update. I have a major writer's block and I still have to decide the direction I want to take with my story. I hope I'll get update done soon. Meanwhile enjoy my new story!

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Only one clear thought forms in my mind as I step out of the car. I do not want to be here.

I have never appreciated bright colors or ornaments but even I think this place is dreary. All I see is cracked grey paint and broken wood. I take a deep breath to calm myself down. Next to me is a woman in her fifties with short chestnut hair with a serious, formal expression. Her face exactly the same when I met her five hours ago at the train station. She tells me that I'm lucky, I can't help but roll my eyes at her comment: how am I lucky? I have lost everything that matters to me but, as she points out, I still have a roof on top of my head and food in my stomach.

"Of course," my sarcastic mind utters. I'm damn lucky! I have already seen the building, giving me a good impression of what to expect from the quality of the food here.

The woman guiding me around tells me the magnitude of work the volunteers endure to keep the place up. I can understand her point, things could be worse, even more worse. Without Rosewood Children's Home, I would have nothing but that doesn't still change the fact I don't want to be here. I already know I'm not going to like it here.

I watch as she opens the gate to the orphanage motioning me to go first. The sight depresses me: a handful of children younger than me playing on the ground; their only source of amusement is a small sandbox and two half-broken swings. I form a small smile when I see the swing. I like swinging, the wind coursing past you instantly granting you the feeling of freedom. As I looked on, I reminisced about the past when I used to sneak out of the house after my dad fell asleep so I could swing as high as I could, trying to reach the stars in the sky.

As I am lead inside the building, I'm amazed by the size and the archaic value. I look at the decrepit walls and wander just how old this building is until the voice of a man suddenly snaps me back into reality. The tall man looks to be in his thirties, his brown hair matching his brown eyes although they still weren't as dark as mine. My eyes are a dark, deep brown. Almost black. I also have ebony hair, naturally styled in tight ringlets, which reaches my back. I was in need of an overdue haircut; it used to be my dad's job.

"It's nice to meet you Cristina and welcome to Rosewood! My name is Andrew Brady but you can just call me Andrew." He greeted, extending his hand. Despite his presence being much more welcoming and warm compared to the woman next to me, it doesn't improve my mood. I take his offering hand, Andrew raises his eyebrows in surprise. He wasn't expecting this firm handshake. Even I'm a small for my age it doesn't mean I don't have firm handshake!

"Thanks. Nice to meet you too, Andrew" I reply nonchalantly. He doesn't seem bothered but then again, I'm probably not the only one with this kind of attitude here.

"Miss Green, please show Cristina to her room." He instructs the woman who escorted me through the place and then he suddenly turns his gaze back to me. "Is an hour enough for unpacking?" He asks me. "I would like to have your first session with me as soon as possible."

My response is a simple nod. After following Miss Green to the room, she hands me the keys and I let myself in to find a small room with an even smaller window giving a brief view of a forest. It's obvious that spring is coming soon. I start to think of all the adventures I could go on in the forest until I am met with Miss Green's disapproving look as if she could read my mind. Her expression reminds me of the rules: no leaving the grounds; no fighting; no drinking; no smoking or taking any drugs unless prescription; always remember to respect others, especially the staff. I try my hardest to keep my emotions in check even I would really like to snap to the woman. I can tell she isn't the type of woman who would tolerate any kind of misbehavior.

She leaves the room so I can unpack in peace although I don't have much with me, only my clothes, toiletries, iPod and books. The room barely has the capacity for the tiny closet opposite the window and the bed next to it. Taking only half an hour to unpack, I sat on the bed assessing its softness and how much more uncomfortable it is than my bed at home. Home. This is supposed to be my home now. How can I ever feel like home here?

Longer than an hour, I hear knocking on my door. I look up to see Miss Green with the same stern face standing there ready to take me to my session. Therapy sessions were all about taking, something I really hoped I don't have to do a lot. Talking is the last thing I want to do.

We walk through a long hallway, looking to my right I see a large room containing a standard TV, drawing table, several musical instruments, magazines and toys. At least there is something to do. I am told by Miss Green that the objects were generously provided by benefactors with Rosewood only being able to barely afford the living arrangements for the children. She almost smiles when she tells me people feel most generous at Christmas time.

I see a group of five watching TV whilst a blonde boy is sat by himself, drawing. I'm mesmerized by how focused he is on his drawing, a sense of urgency to see what he's drawing runs through me. Suddenly he lifts his gaze almost as if he can sense me watching him. I quietly gasp as he does, the piercing blue eyes meet my deep dark ones. He flashes me a warm smile but I turn my gaze instantly. I can already feel the burning sensation on my cheeks, embarrassed at how helpless I was to stop my blushing. Great, now he probably thinks I'm a freak! But his beautiful smile made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Stop it, Cristina! The last thing I want to think about is boys. I walk past the room and find that there are stairs leading to Andrew's office at the end of the hallway.

With the door already opened, Andrew greets me as soon as he sees me. The room is exactly the way I imagined it: the walls are painted warm brown, the atmosphere being very inviting. He points to the leather chair, motioning me to sit down. I bring my thighs close to my chest as I feel the need to protect myself. I feel myself sinking in the chair. Why can't my bed be this comfortable? They probably made sure this chair is cosy to make the person feel comfortable, comfortable enough to talk however the chair is having an opposite effect on me. It makes me feel suffocated. I don't want the therapy session but if I want to live here, regular visits to Andrew were mandatory. I struggle to find a comfortable position and when I eventually do, Andrew is gazing at me attentively. He reads the file positioned on his lap, I nervously sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I know it has something to do with me, curiosity taking over as his eyes narrow.

"So your name is Cristina Yang and you're 16 years old. Is that right?" He enquires.

I huff and pout my lips. "I'm sure all of that is on that paper." I reply coldly.

He looks almost amused. "Just checking."

"I want to tell you a bit of our facility. This building is almost 100 years old and we are currently trying to raise money to repair this place. We have 79 children here, ranging from newborns to 17 years old. Once you're 18, I'm afraid we must ask you to leave," he explains, sorrow haunting his face; he is clearly sorry but there is nothing he can do about it. Under two years for me to figure out what I will do once I have to leave here.

"I trust Miss Green told you about the rules," he says with a knowing smile and for the first time since I have been here, I smile. He must also aware of how much Miss Green loves the rules. "We offer you a room, food, schooling, therapy and all kinds of activities here." He attempts to make this place sound as attractive as possible. He adjusts to a better position in his chair and straightens his back. Now is when the real therapy begins. I'm already looking at the door, waiting for my chance to leave.

"Your father is the reason you were brought here."

No shit Sherlock! "Yes." I answer with bored tone. I don't want to give anything away.

"Your dad died in a car accident. You were with him in the car. It was miracle that you survived with only small physical injuries." Does he think I don't know this?

"You don't have any family except your father. No cousins, aunts or grand-parents. No one that could take care of you after your father left." I can hear pity in his voice. God I hated that tone. I don't want his or anyone else's pity.

"That's true," I say keeping up my ice-cold facade.

"What about your mother?" he asks.

I wait for a moment before I reply. I could've answered that my mother was dead if I hadn't have heard my father's talking to one of his friend a month before he died. It turned out my father had been lying to me my entire life, always telling me my mother died giving birth to me but the truth is that my mother is some random crack whore. She left me on my father's doorstep. My dad wasn't even sure if I was his but he still loved me like I was his own and that was enough for me. He wasn't just my father but also my best friend. I could share my every secret with him. He was my saviour.

"She left right after my birth." It's the truth thought not the entire truth.

I feel uncomfortable as he writes everything I say or even do on his notepad. I have to be careful for what I let out my mouth.

"It's been a month after your dad's passing. How are you feeling?" He presses his mouth into a thin line but the warm look stays in his eyes. He seems the type of therapist who truly cares about his patients but I don't care right now. I care about getting the hell out of here, talking about my father I can feel my chest tightening and my mouth drying up.

"I'm fine." I lied, convincing him with a smile. I stand up, taking a deep breath in. "I'm actually pretty tired so I would like some rest." Any excuse that I can get out of here.

He obviously sees through my act but, for now, he allows me to leave. Now he knows my weakest spot. I feel defenceless. He knows what subject he is going to approach and dad is the last on the list of people I want to talk about. He opens the door for me. "Get some rest." He orders mimicking a fatherly approach. I leave as quickly as I can. I feel instant relief as soon as I'm out the door. I know that I can't avoid talking about my father forever but I'm just not ready yet.

As I walk up the stairs I decide to take a peek into the living room and feel a sudden rush of disappointment when I don't see the blonde boy anymore. This place is huge though, he could be anywhere.

I dig into my pocket searching for my key as I walk through the hallway towards my room. I'm relieved I didn't lose it on my first day, knowing Miss Green wouldn't be impressed. Just when I put the key into the keyhole, the door on the left opens and out comes the same blonde boy with those piercing blue eyes. I try to hide my smile but my blushing gives me away. I pray he doesn't think I was weird when staring at him earlier. Out of the blue, I see him extend his hand.

"Owen," he says in deep manly voice. I'm taken aback. He is very tall but his face says he can't be much older than me. Not that I can complain. I look much younger than average 16 year old blaming my Asian origins.

"I'm Cristina." I reply with a small smile and extend my hand. Our hands briefly touch and I can feel the effect right away. His hand is warm, as warm as his smile. I smile to myself and look down. I don't want him to see the effect he has on me but can't help but smile back when I find he is still smiling as I look back up.

"I was wondering who my new neighbour would be. I have to say I'm positively surprised." I wish I could wipe my grin off face.

"Good, neighbour," I say awkwardly. I have never been good with interacting people so I feel lost. I turn the key to open my door. I should end this conversation before I say something stupid.

"I'll see you around," Taking another quick glance at him before I shut the door. I'm almost positive I heard him say 'bye'.

I don't know what to think about this place. It's full of people in the same situation as me but I know myself, I can't make any friends. I pick up my favorite book from my closet and I hide under the covers. After ten pages, my eyelids begin to droop and I can feel myself dropping off.

'What is tomorrow going to bring?' My last thought before I fall asleep.

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**AN: **Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I would really like to hear your opinions; should I leave or continue this story? Hot or not? ;)


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